I recently moved into a new neighborhood. On my first evening I went grocery shopping and could not find my usual favorite Greek yogurt. Strangely, my heart started to race. All the losses of my previous life hit me. So many of my old friends, habits, comforts, and predictable experiences had fallen away. There I stood, a grown man, crying like a little boy whose world was falling apart in the dairy aisle.

Once at an evening Mass as a poor college student, the collection basket was fast approaching, and I only had a ten-dollar bill. I was planning on using that to buy my favorite Chipotle burrito that night for dinner. Should I keep the money? Who would know if I did? If I gave it away, what would I eat? Would I be okay? I kissed my future burrito goodbye, dropped the money in the basket, and winced. But strangely, the rest of the Mass I felt more engaged than usual. I had skin in the game. I left the Mass excited to see how God would take care of me. And he did, in amazing ways.

Americans have long been fascinated with public debates. Farmers stood in muddy fields for hours to hear Lincoln and Douglas dispute each other in the 1860 presidential run-up. The televised debate between Kennedy and Nixon in 1960 fascinated the nation. These days, cable news outlets and social media parse every word spoken by candidates. We still love seeing public, rational disputes in the service of our nation.

Near my house there is a school for the blind. Often, I see blind people learning how to navigate the world with only a walking stick, even on a busy street with roaring traffic. I’m amazed to see how adept and carefully they get around without sight. Nevertheless, often a sadness arises in me that he or she cannot see all the beautiful colors, images, and persons filling the world around them. Those days, I find myself deeply grateful for the basic privilege of sight.

From a young age, I loved winning at sports. I confess that winning was a bit of an addiction. It was probably coming from a deep desire for attention and affirmation from others. Nevertheless, it was a driving motivation for me. Baseball, soccer, track, table tennis, and whatever else I could find was a chance to win. Competition was my obsession.

This week we hear of the man who inquires of Jesus how to obtain eternal life. He rejects Jesus’ invitation to sell his goods, give to the poor, and follow Jesus. Mark tells us this devastatingly sad line, “At this saying, his countenance fell and he went away sorrowful; for he had great possessions” (Mark 10:22). The man’s heart wasn’t centered on Jesus, but on his possessions. Perhaps Jesus intuited this. Now, we don’t know if Jesus intended to actually make him go through with it, like God’s call to test Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac. But sadly, in this case the willingness was not there to entrust everything to Jesus. And this made the man deeply sad.

As a young pastor years ago, I met with a middle-aged couple who had been divorced and civilly remarried. They were frustrated that an annulment had to precede a Church marriage. Sympathizing with their plight, I promised to walk with them along their journey. Once as we sat in my office, the man said to me, “Why is the Church so difficult on marriage?” I replied, “Actually, Jesus’ teaching is what’s difficult.” He furrowed his brow and asked what I meant.